Translating Extraordinary
by Measi
Summary: With Time in danger of unraveling, the impossible must be proven wrong. TenRose rewrite. Prologue & Chapter 1 up 20Feb07.
1. Prologue

Isolated from existence, the vast expanse lay blackened and scarred from the wounds of war. Millions of timelines had been ripped out of existence in a single moment, their ends severed, forming a jagged bramble of withered vines and tendrils. Only silence remained among the dead. No one heard their last moments, forever roaring at a pitch beyond the definition of sound, refusing that life should ever reclaim the destroyed region of Time.

In the center of the expanse, a gnarled, damaged tree loomed over the landscape. Scars dotted her branches where the timelines had been ripped from her limbs. She heard them all. Their voices constant, merely dimmed during the rare opportunities where she managed to distract herself. She went out of her way to avoid hearing the screams and last-attempted prayers before their destruction. Each time she encountered them, their pain became hers. She could name them all, one by one, mourning each life from beginning to end. She knew their fears, their hopes, their joys.

All gone. Shattered. Leaving her alone with the memories of dead worlds forever in her wake.

Against the will of the dead, however, the tree continued to live. From her wounds of war, small new tendrils had formed, glowing gold as they lengthened and stretched toward the ground. She cultivated them with love and hope, watching them stretch with every microsecond. New stars, new planets, new lives – all forming tiny buds of Time upon her. As old ones ended from natural extinction, they melded into the soil beneath the tree, nourishing the roots so that new life would once again bud from her branches. Birth, Death, Rebirth. All that was and all that ever would be helped her thrive.

Yet at this moment, her focus was on two particular tendrils which tended to cause her no short amount of motherly concern. One tendril, thickened through centuries of development, had continued to grow as it should, although its luster had dimmed recently. The other tendril, thinner than the first but far less predictable, danced as it coiled around the thicker line, strengthening as it went, learning from the other. For just an infinitesimal moment, each of these timelines had touched the trunk of the tree – and to the heart of the tree herself. The intimate connection brought these two particular timelines to the forefront of her attention.

It was the thinner tendril which concerned her – the life of the human known as Rose Tyler. Although still glowing brightly, it had suddenly stopped. Somehow, the lifeline had ended, severed sharply like all of the brambles that formed the barrier around her. Unlike the brambles, however, it clung to life, suspended in stasis, separated from its twin, which now spiraled alone and confused toward the ground.

The Tree of Time called out to Rose Tyler, and heard no answer.


	2. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER – Doctor Who and all the rest belong to the BBC. My fiancé wouldn't appreciate me claiming David Tennant, as much as I'd love to.

RATING – T (for now).

CLASSIFICATION: Ten/Rose. Angst/Character Study/Romance.

SPOILERS: – Everything through Series 2. Heavy Doomsday references. Won't spoil The Runaway Bride if you haven't seen it.

A/N – Due to losing my original outline, I was forced to revise it and rework my first three chapters. Honestly, I think it might have been for the better. Less loose ends this way. 

The months had slowly dragged by for Rose Tyler. Everything the same, yet everything was different and new. Same Mum, same Mickey, new dad, new Earth. She'd worked hard to make the best of the situation, putting up the brave front to face the world even during the days where she'd much rather curl up under the covers and sob the daylight hours away. She didn't find joy in work, but it kept her from dwelling too much on the loss of the Doctor. As the weeks went on, the anger and grief tempered a bit, moving from the ever-present forefront of her emotions to somewhere permanent, smoldering but controllable. She learned to recognize the swelling of loss and could deal with it without excusing herself to some quiet corner in the basement at work. Her parents and Mickey knew what she meant when she said she was having a difficult day. With reassuring smiles and hugs, they left her alone to her thoughts. She found that she could manage. Life had to go on.

He would want her to go on.

She clung to that knowledge to keep her going, especially when she'd hear of strange phenomenon on the telly or in the news. She rolled her eyes when the reporters would come to a completely ridiculous conclusion to something (now) blatantly obvious to her. Discussions about the Cybermen lingered—where did they go? Why did they disappear? And how?

Oh, she knew how. She knew damned well that they'd never believe her if she explained it to them, either. She didn't exactly want to reveal her emotions, either—not like that, at least. There was only one person she wanted to talk to about that, and he was gone forever.

'_But I did get to tell him I loved him,'_ she reminded herself. _'I did get that. And the same from him, mostly.'_ The words meant nothing, though. She'd lost him. She'd been ripped from him and existence, locked up in the prison of a new universe. The entire world was fake, a frightful holiday spot made to look like home, but could never be.

She found, though, that she needed to explain. She had experienced so many incredible things, learned so much. Maybe it would be too complicated, but she knew she'd regret losing the memories. She needed to record them, if only for herself. She needed to make sense of what she'd seen and learned. She wanted to remember the good times she'd had, and to stop dwelling on the horror in the Doctor's eyes as she'd been pulled toward the Void.

She began to write everything she could remember. She didn't care if she couldn't explain it in complete sentences. Broken words, random tangents—it all flowed. When she couldn't find the words, she sketched. Page after page were filled with her memories. When one book was full, she bought and filled another. Her grief transformed into something positive—a joy of storytelling, of celebrating such a full life despite its briefness.

"Rose, love…" she heard the soft knock on her bedroom door that followed her mother's voice. "It's nearly eight. Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really, Mum. Can't think of food," Rose replied. She scribbled the final words of her current train of thought and closed the notebook on her desk. _'It's not ready yet. Can't let Mum see it until I get it done.'_

"May I come in?"

"Yeah…" she replied.

The door opened a crack, and Jackie's head popped through the door. "You've been up here all day today. What's the matter sweetheart?"

"Nothing you haven't heard about a million times already," Rose grumbled.

"Then tell me again, for million and one," Jackie insisted, crossing the room to sit on her daughter's bed. "I can't bear to see you hurting like this, Rose. Talk to me."

"Mum, you won't understand…"

"Probably not," her mother interrupted. "But I can't hope to understand unless you talk to me, darling. Tell me. I might not get it all at first, but I can listen. And learn." Rose saw her mother's eyes begin to brim with tears and instinctively moved to her mother's side, taking her mother's hand for comfort. "I just want you to stop hurting, sweetheart."

"Mum, I promise I will." At her mother's immediate response, Rose squeezed Jackie's hand tighter. "I will. I promise. I've started writing things down, Mum. I want to talk about it, but I just… can't. It's too hard to talk. So I'll write it all out. And then once you read it, maybe it will be easier to talk 'cause I won't have to explain it all, yeah?"

Jackie visibly relaxed a bit. "Yeah, I'd love that. Maybe it's the best way. But Rose, dear, please talk to me if you feel you can. I just want to help you stop hurting." She kissed Rose gently on the forehead and got up to leave.

"I'll bring something up for you, in case you do get hungry. Want some tea?"

Rose smiled. "Yeah. Thanks Mum." Once Jackie closed the door, she returned to the notebook, reviewing what she'd written so far.

&&&

True to promise, Rose left the first notebook on her mother's nightstand a couple weeks later with an attached note. _'Starting from the beginning, Mum. But they won't be in order. We'll talk once I finish the last. Please don't talk about them with anyone. I'm not ready for that.'_

With a fresh kettle of tea, Jackie curled up in bed and began to read…

'"_Run!" he said…'_

&&&

"Ms. Tyler, are you all right?" The concerned male voice drifted through the doorframe.

Rose stopped rubbing at her temples and sighed. She opened her eyes, spotting a dark-haired man, mid-thirties, dressed in the plain black uniform that identified him as building security leaning against her office doorframe. "Yes, thank you. Bit of a headache is all." As she stood up, her head began to swim. "Been working too hard, I suppose."

"Should I call one of the doctors?" he asked.

"No… no, thank you. I'm just tired. Quick trip to the chemist over lunch, and I'll get something to help it."

He nodded, smiling pleasantly despite continued concern. "Well, if you do need help, please call down to the infirmary. Doctor Norwich is in residence today."

"Thank you… I'm sorry. I don't think we've met properly."

"Nathan Jones. I'm up in security," he replied, offering his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Tyler. And please, call me Nathan. Hearing my last name tends to make me think I've fallen into some trouble."

Rose shook his hand warmly and laughed. "A pleasure to meet you, Nathan. And likewise. Please call me Rose."

"Well, I'd best be off. My shift starts in a few minutes. Hope that headache goes away." He smiled and gave Rose a slight wave before heading down the corridor.

Rose watched as he disappeared around a corridor, then retreated back to her office, closing the door. The throbbing pain in her temples had waxed and waned all day, despite attempts to quell the beat she heard between her ears with a couple too many doses of painkillers.

Her last round of this particular type of headache had been a few weeks ago, and had lasted the better part of three days without any ease of symptoms before she'd finally given in and checked herself into the corporate infirmary. As expected, the doctors at Torchwood were able to quickly ease the pain, but despite a full round of blood, physical and psychic tests, had been unable to determine the cause. Doctor Norwich had suggested that perhaps it was a migraine variant, triggered by her travels through the Void. It sounded like a logical, easy to digest reason, and Rose had accepted it.

Muttering under her breath, she saved her work and logged off of her computer, retrieved her handbag from her locked desk drawer, and headed out of her office. She had no intention of waiting three days this time.

&&&

'_The Nestene Consciousness screamed at him, protesting against his actions in a language that I couldn't understand but gathered the meaning of through the Doctor's responses. So much pain, so much guilt. Something about a war – what I would later learn was the Time War – and about how he couldn't save any of them. _

_Any mention of the Time War immediately eliminated his normal behavior toward, well… everything. His guilt over the Time War was his greatest weakness. When we first encountered the Gelth in 1869 Cardiff, they mentioned the Time War, and how it caused their race's destruction. He immediately wanted to help them, trusting their story without question. When we encountered the Dalek in Henry Van Stanton's underground base in Utah, the surviving Dalek threw him into madness. _

_It's strange – although over our travels he would reveal bits and pieces about what happened, but he never mentioned planets by name. Even his own._

_I still don't know where he's from. Only that it's gone."_


End file.
